A/N: So someone drew attention to a line in the last chapter that could (and apparently was) taken offensively by some. Looking back at it, I can see how it would've been misunderstood and taken the wrong way. Please believe me when I say it wasn't meant that way. Lesson learned - don't finish editing at 2.30am, you miss big things like this. I've edited it now and apologise to anyone that was hurt/offended by it - it wasn't meant to display my view, Harry's or to hurt anyone. I hope that anyone that was offended can still enjoy the rest of the story. Apologies again.
Please bear in mind also that not every rape victim recovers the same or handles sexual relationships the same way afterward.
Thank you so much to every single reviewer, every word, no matter how small, means the world to me, especially when I've had a bad day. I feel so inspired by you all. And even if you don't review, thank you for reading and enjoying, I hope you continue to look forward to every Friday with me : )
.: Chapter Thirteen :.
Wisdom of Age
A wide yawn broke Harry's face for the fifth time that day. The sun was hot as it bore down on them and their slow progress across the grassy plains. Harry knew it was his fault, knew it was because of his discomfiture with their werewolf forms. They could've covered twice as much ground as wolves, but that didn't erase the fact that the thought of facing one of their bear-sized, powerful bodies made his limbs stiffen and blood curdle.
Tugging at his shirt collar he grunted, unbearably hot all of a sudden under the fur cloak and cumbersome clothing – despite the fact that he'd been freezing that morning. This hormonal, unstable temperature thing was ridiculous! Fenrir was marching up ahead bare-chested along with Marrok, while Raquelle wore a thin, lightweight blue fabric around her like a sarong (more to respect Harry's 'delicate sensibilities' than anything else Fenrir had said, reminding him that wolves had no qualms about nakedness like he did).
"Here," a husky, warm voice murmured. Harry jumped slightly, still not as comfortable with close proximity to others as he once was, but forced himself to relax as he stared up into Marrok's dark eyes. The black man smiled warmly down at him. "Let me carry your cloak and that for a bit," he said, holding his large hands out.
Harry looked up at him sheepishly. He didn't like weighing others down, letting others carry his load. It was for this same reason that he'd wanted to face Voldemort now, rather than later. He didn't want to be a burden to anyone. He could feel Fenrir watching him over his shoulder though and remembered his promise to allow them to help him (and so the baby) before they'd departed.
"Yeah, cheers," he said, stripping the usually comforting cloak from his shoulders and passing it into Marrok's arms. He paused, however as he undid the last button of the shirt he'd been wearing, hesitating when he'd been about to pull it off. He could feel all three of the werewolves watching him now as they continued to walk.
"Look, I know it's a human thing, and I haven't ever lived as a human – being a born wolf, but…" Marrok's voice trailed off as Harry met his eyes again. "It's just skin, right?" the dark man said at last, "you're only with us and we don't look at it the way humans do. You know?"
Harry frowned. "It's not so much that," he muttered, glancing up to see Fenrir staring determinedly ahead, conversing with Raquelle in a low voice that Harry couldn't quite make out, even with his improved senses. Then Harry looked down at the soft swell of his stomach, barely noticeable for what it was unless one knew. But he did know, they all did and it wasn't something he wanted on display.
Following his gaze, realisation dawned on Marrok's face. "You don't want us to see the cub?" he asked. "It's normal, you know," Marrok continued and he pressed on as Harry opened his mouth to argue. "Not much is known about breeding subs since the last of them seemed to die out during the Ministry raids years ago. But I do know that you want to make yourself small, as unnoticeable as possible for the cub's sake." He gestured his head to Harry's stomach. "Not wanting to display that you're carrying is part of it. It's a cautionary instinct in you. Why do you think your belly isn't as big as a human's might be practically half way through the pregnancy?"
Harry did cringe then at the 'p' word, as well as the mention of his stomach's size. As soon as Fenrir had told him how far along he was in wolf terms he'd been pondering it. The infant and his stomach seemed really small and he'd been surprised to find himself worried that it was because of his scrawny stature and avoidance of Fenrir's (apparently necessary) touch. "So I'm – I mean it isn't too small?" he asked curiously.
Marrok smiled at him. "No. I'd say you were just right. You won't get too big anyway; it's just the nature of it, you know, to make it easier to hide from predators or whatnot. The cub won't be too big either, you'd be surprised how small big louts like me and the Alpha were when we were kids." They both glanced ahead to Fenrir, who was so determinedly not looking their way that Harry was sure he had heard them.
Probably relieved I'm taking an interest in the thing, Harry thought, having seen the unease in Fenrir's eyes. Harry had still not so much as gestured to it since their confrontation two days ago. In fact, Harry's only acknowledgement of it was to lay beside Fenrir by the fire now, with his belly pressed against Fenrir's back. It was a small step in a grander scheme of things.
Harry was still very unsure of what he felt about what was growing inside him, what to do with it, how to face it. His feelings toward Fenrir were even more confusing, but at least he knew one thing for certain, he'd felt like shit without him. What did that mean for his, Harry's future once all this was done?
They stopped on the edge of the forest that encircled the village of Shae. Fenrir had insisted it was a necessary pit stop before he took Harry to face Voldemort, though he had not elaborated on the why. Harry had been so relieved at his hard-won agreement to end this waiting game once and for all that he'd readily agreed to this condition.
When Fenrir Greyback finally agreed to what you wanted, you didn't mess about.
"We'll reach the village by nightfall," Raquelle assured Harry, handing him a large slab of the sweet bread Amoux had given him for the journey to keep up his strength between meals. Raquelle smiled as she stretched out on the ground near Harry, relaxing in the shade of the tree they'd stopped under. Marrok was the one talking to Fenrir in hushed tones now and Harry found it more than a little annoying. Fenrir had barely looked at him in two days and now this? What was he discussing in secret with his pack-mates?
"It's my fault we're taking so long, sorry about that," Harry said. Raquelle rolled over onto her belly on the ground and looked up at him. She was quite pretty and slender but in a way that spoke of strength too. Harry envied that strength. He could not feel more helpless right now if he tried.
"Don't be silly. I don't always get the chance to walk the land like this. I'm normally stuck behind watching the pack with Echo. Hemming and Lupa are the ones that usually accompany the Alpha to Shae."
Harry nodded. Yes, the two best fighters of the pack who were with Hermione and Ron right now – supposedly. He wondered how his two friends were right now. I'll see them soon, he reassured himself, only hoping he was right.
"Hey," Raquelle said chirpily, scrambling up to her knees so that their eyes were level (as Harry was sat on the ground leaning against the trunk of the tree). "You look knackered. Why don't you close your eyes for a bit before we take off?"
Harry didn't say anything for a moment. They'd stopped enough times on his account, on a quest that was all because of him. He'd never felt like such a nuisance, not since he'd lived with the Dursleys. "I'm not dying," Harry protested. "I can handle a bit of a walk." He'd not liked Fenrir insisting he needed to rest nearly every hour of this already drawn out journey either. He wasn't adjusting well to this route that Fenrir had insisted he walk down, the path of letting people take on his burdens for him.
Raquelle, far from perturbed by his mood sat up a little higher on her heels and smiled at him. "We care about you, we care about the cub. You're precious to us, a gift," she said and when Harry held her gaze without turning away awkwardly, her smile seemed to become slightly nervous. "What's it like?" she asked, all in a rush of breath as if ashamed of hearing it tumble from her lips. "You know…carrying a baby inside of you?" Her voice trailed off quietly at the end with a twist of longing and Harry felt like utter shit.
I have something she and the others would kill to have, to feel, he thought and licked his suddenly dry lips as he inhaled shakily. What was he meant to say to that? He winced as he recalled his behaviour over the last few months. He wanted to say he was sorry but he didn't think Raquelle would appreciate the pity that was certain to creep into his voice if he did.
He wasn't naïve, he knew there were many people out there who were valid in making the opposite choice to him. He knew that he probably wouldn't have been blamed for making the decision to get rid of it either. He hadn't made the decision not to get rid of it just to please them, or Fenrir for that matter. He'd made the decision for himself and yet he'd still been acting…
With a sigh, he realised that while his behaviour was justifiable, he didn't want to offend everyone else with it. He was finding swiftly that he was coming to actually care about 'it' and that was unnerving him. He was taking that confusion out on everyone else, which was different to hating his lot in life and being bitter. He didn't feel bitter and he didn't hate it. He didn't want them to think he did, even if the notion scared him. They were only trying to show him he was cared about, after all, that he wasn't alone and only interested in something they could never have. Eventually, he gave a small, uneasy shrug.
"Physically I don't actually feel all that different to be honest," he admitted. "I don't feel it move or anything – if it does move that is. I'm not really sure how far it's meant to have developed since I'm nearly half way there now." He frowned and glanced down at his torso, which was covered again by his shirt. He had to admit it, he was more than a little concerned that he hadn't felt any movement at all yet.
"My skin is more sensitive," he said, trying to push the lingering unease from the forefront of his mind. He wasn't going to divulge which parts of him were particularly sensitive, however. "To be honest I feel bloated more than anything, like my stomach is full to capacity," he paused, momentarily wondering just how everything was fitting in his stomach, then added, "Sometimes I feel nauseous, otherwise I feel about the same."
Raquelle stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, her smile not waning. "I bet it will feel wonderful when it starts to move," she replied after a small awed silence, "though there's probably not room for it to move around much – you're still quite slim."
Once again Harry didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He was both fearful and anxious for it to happen. He couldn't imagine how he would feel. Fucking terrified probably, he thought, inhaling slowly. He was starting to feel a little bit sick now he thought of it. What if this thing came into the world and he still couldn't handle it?
"Does the Alpha touch it a lot?" she asked.
"He sits besides me," Harry said, his voice full of discomfiture. "Sometimes I sort of lean against him."
She blinked, but as with Marrok, seemed to understand. When she opened her mouth to respond, however, her voice was lost below Fenrir's as he and Marrok returned to their side.
"Chance might be nice," Fenrir muttered, looking down at the two of them, his eyes determinedly not lingering over Harry. That frown returned to Harry's brow as he struggled to his feet, he was getting sick of the alpha avoiding his gaze.
"Some people have personal boundaries," Harry snapped, "I don't see why I shouldn't be allowed my space just because you went and put something in my stomach. I don't want you pawing at me, alright?" He'd thought he'd been getting better, making progress but that evidently wasn't enough. He grit his teeth, moving back onto the invisible path through the forest they'd been treading towards the village. He was sick of being angry or afraid.
A grunt sounded from behind him, but Harry felt more than heard Fenrir catch up to him. He determinedly avoided looking away from the path straight ahead when the man fell into stride beside him. "Let me touch the cub," Fenrir murmured, for his ears only, "it might help your hormones, stop you being so bloody irritable."
Harry's entire body tensed. He grinded his teeth hard – they'd be worn away to stumps before he came to term. "I'm pissed off because of you, not because of the hormones," he replied shortly. Yes, they and the little lodger were part of what made him feel so unstable, but they weren't the reason he was angry now. Not entirely. "It doesn't need you all the time," he argued, "And I don't think someone whose been doing his best to avoid me the last two days deserves extras." He knew that phrasing sounded childish, but right now he didn't care.
Fenrir smirked. "Oh, I like touching for your sake as well as the cub's, pet, don't worry," he mused.
Harry glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "Fuck you," he snarled under his breath, hastening his steps. Logically, he knew he couldn't escape the werewolf but he thought it might let Fenrir know to back off. He thought wrong. A hand shot out and whirled him around to face his alpha. The motion shocked him. Aside from laying next to each other to sleep, the wolf hadn't touched him really at all the last two days.
"I'm sick of this attitude," Fenrir snapped.
"And I'm sick of you avoiding me and having hushed conversations behind my back!" Harry retorted, temporarily forgetting their audience. Now he'd gotten to this point he just needed to boil over.
Fenrir took a step away from him, as if being in his proximity right then was far too great a test for his temper. "We're out here on our way to face the fucking Dark Lord because you wanted to! You're getting what you asked for, what more do you want?!" he roared, turning to walk on ahead.
"I want you to look at me!" Harry bit back, freezing the alpha in his steps. "If you're pissed off because you're having to do something you didn't want to in order to make good of your promises then say so. Tell me what you're problem is, don't whisper behind my back like I'm a child who can't take the bloody truth!"
"My problem is you're making me lead you into danger when everything in me screams to keep you both safe! I can't stand to look at you right now."
"Because you have to do something you don't want to," Harry began, but Fenrir's raised voice cut him off.
"Because it makes me want to drag you back home and keep you there, even if it makes you hate me even more than you do now!"
Those words made Harry freeze, along with everything else in the forest it seemed. He stared up into those ice-blue eyes; dark with anger but also a flicker of the same fear Harry was far too familiar with. The fear of losing everyone – everything. Harry inhaled, preparing for speech but before he could find words, Fenrir cut him off, his voice harsh and coarse as ever.
"And I'm still undeserving of touching my child," Fenrir growled darkly, it was a statement not a question. He took a step forward to stare down at Harry, as if challenging him to agree to those words. Harry felt his body tingle with instinctive unease at being towered over in his condition but raised his chin defiantly, not moving back.
"I shouldn't have said that," Harry began, his voice unwavering. That'd been wrong of him to say that. But he was so frustrated and…
"You know what your problem is?" Fenrir growled, his voice low again, for Harry's ears only. "You haven't let me touch you in over two months. You need a good fuck and you're angry and uptight because you don't know how to admit it."
Harry's face flushed beet red, but before he could think of a reply, Fenrir had marched on ahead, leaving him, Raquelle and Marrok to catch up.
The sun was low on the horizon when they crossed the boundaries into Shae. Some villagers were still out and about, finishing up their tasks of the day and all inclined their heads in respect to them as they passed. Harry watched them curiously. He had been drunk on the moon the last time he'd been here and had not had chance to register how respected Fenrir was here. Not feared or hated, as he would have been in the wizarding world.
Which is one of the reasons he hates it so much, Harry thought, staring thoughtfully at the back of the man's head as they walked. The last few months his previous image of Fenrir Greyback had been shattered. The man was far from innocent and chivalrous, but he definitely wasn't what the wizarding world had painted to be. But neither am I, he thought.
Slowly, he increased his stride to fall into pace beside Fenrir and glanced up at him. He hadn't spoken for a while now, not even to the others. "Why did you insist on coming here before we go to Him anyway?" Harry asked, he still hadn't been able to figure that out.
Fenrir didn't look at him when he answered. "An elder relation is meant to bless the cub," he explained stiffly. "When I was born I was blessed by my entire family, this is the best we can do."
Harry heard the bitterness in his voice and not all of it was because of him. He felt the same loss and resentment in having lost his family too. It was not the first time in the last few months he wondered what his parents would've said if they'd been presented with his child – whether it was Fenrir's or not. But he would never know – Voldemort had stolen that from him.
"At least you still have your grandmother, that's something at least," Harry said thoughtfully. He felt Fenrir glance down at him then, but did not meet his gaze.
"The blessing is meant to ensure good health and an easy birth," Fenrir said, some of the bite gone from his voice. Harry was sure that wasn't what the man had wanted to say, but the mention of the looming 'birth' made him pale. It was far too soon in coming and the notion terrified him for many reasons.
Before long they reached the familiar large single story home with the arched doorway. The door opened to them before they even attempted to knock. The familiar warm face framed by shining silver curls stared back at them. Ice-blue eyes (the same as Fenrir's) considered them for a moment, before the elderly woman stepped back, silently beckoning the small group inside. On crossing the threshold, Harry's gaze was caught by her and she smiled comfortingly, knowingly at him.
"You visited but a few days ago, when you did your last hunt," Eithne said as she closed the door, gesturing with her hand for them all to take a seat. There were a few well-worn but comfortable arm chairs around the fire. Harry gingerly sat in one, his back and legs aching from their long trek. Marrok came to stand behind him while Raquelle took the second chair. Fenrir stood with his back to them all, his hands resting on the mantel piece, gazing into the fire.
"Don't play games, you know we're here for Harry's blessing, old woman," Fenrir grumbled without turning to face them. Harry winced at his tone but Eithne simply smiled diligently, as if he had called her by the sweetest pet name and took the final chair by the fire, directly opposite Harry. There was an unspoken adoration between her and Fenrir, the kind that was all the sweeter for being silent. It was the same sort of affection that flowed between him and Remus, Harry thought, his chest tightening slightly as he thought of the old wolf. Tonks would've had her baby by now, he thought. Did she get through it ok? Did the baby?
Movement from the old woman snapped him from his thoughts. She was leaning forward in her chair, her kind, worldly eyes surveying him as the flickering firelight was reflected in them. "I couldn't help my son much when he gave birth," she began, "werewolf births are different, but I was there when he had Fenrir and the triplets–"
"Triplets?!" Harry gasped before he could stop himself. He thought he heard Raquelle chuckle good-naturedly at the horror in his voice.
Eithne continued to smile. "It's not very common in the stronger blood-lines. Werewolves are stronger than mere canines and so do not need to produce as many young at one time, but it has happened. My son had Fenrir, then the triplets (two boys and a girl) and then another boy." She looked at Harry carefully then. "You still find it odd to speak about men and birth in the same instance," she observed.
Harry felt uncomfortable now. He knew he was still ignorant and easily surprised with the ways of wolves, but how could he be anything else given the circumstances? "Yeah, I s'pose," he began. "To be honest I've still not really come to terms with the fact that I'm…well, I'm having a bloody baby and have to give birth and sooner than I thought too." His voice was slightly higher than he would've liked, but no one commented on it.
Eithne leant forward, capturing his hands with his. Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't allowed such a touch in so long.
"It is the unknown you fear more than anything else," the old woman said in her dulcet voice. "What if you can't do it? What if you can't accept this child? What if there are more? What if something happens to them, or you, or your pack? What if the people you love die while He is at large, while you are still indisposed?"
Harry stared at her, wondering how he was so easily read and saw Fenrir's entire body tense out of the corner of his eye. The man still did not turn to face them, but Marrok and Raquelle were watching silently and Harry felt suddenly awkward that they had heard all of his worst fears spoken so plainly. His lips worked soundlessly for a few moments in vain, before the old woman spoke for him.
"I can help assuage a few of those fears of yours, at least erase some of the unknown, but the rest you must trust my grandson to aid you in," she said softly and slid forward onto her knees with the fluidity of a woman half her age. Harry stiffened in the chair as she released his hands. He knew what she was about to do and he didn't know if he could allow it.
Fenrir turned slowly now to face them, leaning on the mantle with one arm as he stared into Harry's eyes. The light was dwindling outside, Harry could see that through the windows and the fire cast a warm glow over Fenrir's form as he held that gaze. The man wouldn't make him do it, but he wanted him to and for the first time, Harry did something purely to ease the tension from the alpha wolf's body. He relaxed back into the chair (or tried to) as Eithne carefully reached for his stomach. He could not help but flinch as her long-fingered slender hands moved his shirt up out of the way, however.
"You know, you're more like a spooked tiger than a wolf," she mused, holding his gaze. He said nothing, mostly because he wanted to remind them all that he wasn't a bloody werewolf, but he didn't want to be rude. He merely grit his teeth as her warm hands touched his bare stomach. "You need to have more contact with Fenrir, bare skin on skin is best during the pregnancy – you are a little too cool to the touch," Eithne said, looking at his only slightly rounded stomach. It didn't even look like a bump really and Harry half expected her to comment on that, despite Marrok's assurance that his size was normal.
The old woman's brow furrowed with concentration then and the soft pads of her fingers traced Harry's stomach, pressing gently. "Tell me if I cause you discomfort," she said, before pressing a little more firmly. She was circling a particular area of his flesh at a time now, pushing harder here and there, moving her palm up into his stomach. Whatever she was doing, it was taking forever.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, but he said nothing so Eithne did not stop, engrossed in her task. It felt unnatural to leave himself so open to a potential attack, as well as embarrassing for all eyes were on him now. Cautiously, he peered up from under his lashes to where Fenrir stood. The man was watching them with a platonic hunger in his piercing blue eyes. The wolf had been avoiding his presence and gaze because he was scared of losing both him and the baby, because he didn't want to break his promises to Harry due to that fear.
But he's looking at you now, a voice whispered at the back of Harry's mind. He dampened his suddenly dry lips with his tongue. He was afraid of the touch on his stomach right now, it didn't make him shudder and cringe as it might have. It was uncomfortable and he'd rather it was over but he could bear it. Why couldn't he bear it so Fenrir could touch it too?
He's earned that much¸ Harry thought. But what about what Fenrir had eluded to earlier? Harry winced, he didn't think he could bear much more touching than this, much less fucking at the moment. It was too soon, whether his body wanted it or not.
At that moment, Eithne sat back slightly, looking him in the eyes, snapping him from his thoughts. "Well, it might either disappoint or relieve you to know that you're carrying only one child, young one," she said. A sharp rush of relief rushed up through Harry's stomach and out through his mouth as a low, deep sigh – like a sudden breeze and he gave her a small, nervous smile.
"Thanks," he said quietly, stunned to silence. He didn't think he was ready for a child, that he could accept it, but at least it was just one…
"Those born alone are said to be the strongest," Raquelle said thoughtfully, watching Harry with awe still. Harry didn't resent her looking, he knew what it meant to female werewolves now and would gladly bear the discomfort if it helped them to assuage their yearning somewhat.
"I expected no less," Eithne said, removing one of her hands and delving into the pouch attached to her side. When the hand returned, her fingers were covered with a dark, glistening powder. It looked like muggle glitter, Harry thought, a dark gold in colour and shining with the firelight as it was brought up close to his face.
"Would you like me to bless you both, child?" Eithne asked him, him rather than Fenrir. He appreciated that in itself, enough to nod his head and accept the uncomfortable tingling that radiated through his skin as the glitter was smudged across his forehead. It was the same upwards, horizontal arch that he dimly recalled Fenrir painting across his skin in blood that night under the moon, Harry was sure of it.
"With the oath to shield, shelter and protect," Eithne began in a voice almost otherworldly. At first the blessing seemed to be an echo of what Fenrir had once whispered to him in a much more intimate setting, but then it seemed to change slightly. "The spirits of our blood, both living and dead watch over you," the woman continued, painting a glittering arc over each of his cheeks. "Deliver to us both of you in good health and strength." An identical arc graced his flesh just above his navel.
Harry's skin was tingling hotly, but not unpleasantly under the glittering marks now and he felt on odd, tiny fluttering, like butterfly wings in his stomach. He blinked and then Eithne's hand pushed his shirt aside to cover the skin above his heart with the glistening concoction. He wanted to ask what was in it, but he didn't know if speaking ruined the ritual blessing. His hands gripped the arms of the chair as the tingling intensified. It wasn't painful but it was startling. He gasped. That fluttering feeling in his stomach hadn't gone either.
Then at last, a final mark was dragged around to encircle his mating mark. "Go forward with this blessing of life and find joy." With that Eithne stepped back, taking her seat again in the chair opposite. Harry stared at her. He still felt the tingling. It was so hot now that he reached up to check if his skin was burning, but before he could touch it, Fenrir caught his wrist.
"Let me finish the blessing," he muttered, kneeling in front of him. Harry just nodded, not knowing what else to do. Everyone was still watching him and now Fenrir was leaning up, licking the powder from his forehead and his cheeks. Harry stiffened as the wolf moved lower, those azure eyes locked with his as the man's mouth hovered over his stomach. It wasn't sexual in the slightest yet still embarrassing. But here was Fenrir, silently asking for permission to continue and that notion in itself made Harry give the slightest of nods.
A wet, hot tongue cleaned his stomach too, before Fenrir moved up to touch his lips to his throat. "And I will be with you both, always," the alpha said, low but clear, completing the ritual by lapping away the last mark and sitting back.
The tingling in Harry's skin was gone now, as was the light outside. While Harry stared at Fenrir who remained kneeling at his feet, Eithne stood and began lighting the lamps to bring some more light to the room. Harry did not realise until later, when his mind was clear, that she had confirmed his suspicions that she was a witch by lighting the lanterns with a wand.
"Well done, both of you," she said as she brought a large lamp over to the table that sat near the chairs, but Harry did not look at her, could not look away from Fenrir, even as the woman continued to speak. "From what I felt and sensed, your child is in good health. Small, but then as I recall all werewolf cubs are. I can tell you what I know about my son's births if you like my boy and that may help you even further?"
Harry did realise she was speaking to him, but it was a distant knowledge, one he did not act on. He watched as Fenrir seemed to mull something over in his mind, seemed to be verging on speech before he looked down to Harry's stomach and winced. He reached forwards, fastening Harry's shirt back up before getting to his feet.
"That stuff tastes like crap, Eithne," he griped.
"The most beneficial magic always tastes the worst," the old woman said with a smile. "It's the same recipe as the batch I made with your father's mother for your blessing."
Fenrir nodded, making his way over to the door. "Marrok, stay with Harry while me and Raquelle sort out business," he ordered and without a single glance back, he headed out the door, Raquelle close behind.
Harry stared at the door, shocked, angry and confused. Pulling his shirt back closed around himself, he focused on fastening the buttons once more to put off the moment when he would have to meet the eyes of those remaining in the room. Not only did he feel awkward after what had just happened, humiliated and a little lost that Fenrir had just abandoned him after such an invasive act but also…
He winced. A pang of jealousy lanced his chest on watching Raquelle disappear after him. He didn't like it, especially as he knew his feelings had no foundation. He liked the severity of which it bothered him even less. Maybe it was hormones or instincts. Why else would he care?
"He's quite taken with you, my grandson," Eithne said with a smile after a long silence. Harry wanted to snort at that, but politeness helped him to remain quiet. Eithne glanced to the now closed door Fenrir and Raquelle had left through, looking thoughtful as she spoke. "Had he not responsibilities of protector to attend to, I doubt he would leave your side."
Harry blinked at her, lost for words. And with the next words to leave her mouth, he swore she was reading his mind.
"He is strengthening the magic that protects the borders," she explained. It was likely meant as a reassurance to the jealousy that was apparently obvious on Harry's face, but it only inspired more confusion.
Harry's brow furrowed further. "Why? Haven't they held for decades?" he asked warily, "Fenrir made it sound like they would last forever. Due to the ritual that was used to create them or something."
Eithne nodded slowly. "They will, but he is strengthening them regardless." The unspoken 'why' lay between them for but a few milliseconds before her aged lips parted in speech once more around an answer. "He thinks he is going to die."
Harry gasped – or more accurately choked as if a large fist had just closed around his throat. Fenrir thought he was going to die? It was impossible. Losing his parents so young, Harry had always seen life as fragile, always known how easily he could lose someone he loved, but Fenrir… No. To him, Fenrir was invincible somehow. Him and death didn't fit together in the same sentence.
"Because of me?" Harry whispered, more to himself than as a question. A firm hand gripped his shoulder though and Marrok answered him regardless.
"No," he ensured him. "All of our lives are in danger because of Tergarletum, not you. We would have been threatened whether you were here or not. That brute threatens any who could oppose him." He squeezed Harry's shoulder firmly. "The Alpha feels responsible for this village, for the pack and for you, he feels like he needs to prepare for the worst. Even more so with his instincts running on such a high from your condition."
Harry winced. Fenrir, die? No. He wouldn't allow it. His muscles bunched to rise from the chair, to follow after the wolf and knock some sense into him, but Eithne had grasped both his hands in hers and stilled him with a peculiar look in her eyes. He'd seen it only a few times in the eyes of Mrs Weasley and Sirius but could not quite give a name to it.
"Shae was headstrong and protective, brave like you," she said with a sad little smile. "It was hard for him to adjust to life as a wolf but he had a long time to adjust, far longer than you've had. You remind me a lot of him, I think Fenrir sees him in you as well."
Harry blinked at her, not really knowing what to say to that. He moistened his dry lips again. He was still almost shaking with the thought that by dragging them to Voldemort, he might be bringing Fenrir to his death. "Did he adjust to it? I mean how did he handle being subject to his instincts and…getting pregnant? Giving birth?"
Eithne nodded. "Yes. He had time to adjust to it all before he had his children of course, which is why things are much more difficult with you." She glanced down to his stomach and Harry inhaled deeply, as if preparing to step into battle. But she didn't touch him again.
"You will adjust, you will be happy, I think you can feel the possibility to be happy already, can you not?" the old woman asked, her ice-blue eyes penetrating his very thoughts.
"I don't know," Harry replied hesitantly, feeling unease radiating from the black wolf behind him. His happiness was so important to these people, much more than he'd ever thought it would be when he first awoke in Fenrir's charge. And he only just realised how important their happiness, their safety and health was to him.
"Fenrir was forced to grow up very quickly after seeing his family butchered like cattle before his very eyes," Eithne said darkly, her voice cracking slightly with bitterness, the same way Fenrir's did when he spoke about this loss. She squeezed his hands almost painfully tight in her grasp. "He hasn't been able to express his affection easily since that day, and like you, has feared opening himself up completely lest he lose everything all over again. Can you not see it in his eyes? He fears losing you just as he lost them."
Harry shook his head, pulling his hands gently from hers. "He's afraid of losing the baby–"
"And you think a man as proud and stubborn as him would be walking straight into the trap of He Who Must Not Be Named'shouse, making himself vulnerable for anyone other than someone he truly cared for?" Eithne reasoned, looking at him knowingly for a few moments, before lifting her gaze up to Marrok, silent and still as stone behind Harry. "Fetch me that box from the shelf on the far right, would you Marrok?" she asked, lifting her voice slightly, apparently putting an end to that subject for now.
The dark-skinned man obediently brought the box to her, sliding it into her wizened yet steady hands as she pulled her chair closer to Harry before lowering herself into it. "My boy gave me this when his youngest grew out of it," she said, flicking open the ornate clasps that held the small chest closed. It was about the same size as the dreaded Monster Book of Monsters, only much more inert and handsome in its time-kissed appearance.
"I made it for my son when he was born from the softest materials known to wizardkind," Eithne continued, the firelight making her silver curls glow dazzlingly in the softly lit room. "I repaired it and made it anew when he had Fenrir and now it must pass to you and your little one." She drew from the chest a folded cloth and gave it a flick to open it up.
The fabric fluttered open as if carried by a small breeze, about half the size of a single sheet but light, delicate. Yet somehow Harry could tell it was strong. It was a rich creamy colour and in the top right corner near where Eithne held it, he saw the image of a wolf beautifully embroidered in gold and silver thread. The image glistened in the firelight, with all the ethereal beauty of Fenrir's fur when he transformed under the moon.
Harry stared from the swaddling cloth to its maker, taken aback. He, who had so few things from his parents, so few heirlooms knew how precious something so loved and special must be. "I…I can't take that," he began.
Eithne shook her head, pressing the re-folded blanket into his hands without preamble. It was softer than vicuna, cashmere and silk all at once but stronger and light but warm all at once as he held it in his hands. This was made with love for Fenrir's dad (mum, whatever he was considered to be) and now it was coming to him? To the baby inside him he was still so unsure of.
"Keep it close to both you and Fenrir over the next few months, then when the babe is born it'll be able to smell the both of you on it," she explained, watching him carefully. Before Harry could even begin to protest, she continued. "Now I can tell you what I know about what you can expect. As far as I could tell with Shae, instincts take care of a lot of it for you when the time comes…"
The moon had risen and sunk lower in the dark sky and still Harry had not fallen asleep. Eithne's cottage had two bedrooms, her own and one that was once Fenrir's dad's (mum's, whatever). The room Harry had stayed in once before, the same room Fenrir had tried to leave him in on that full moon night was where he now rested. Harry was laying on the same bed, staring out of the open shutters into the night sky, illuminated by a hundred stars it seemed.
He felt hot again despite wearing only his shirt and so the duvet was only draped over the lower half of his body, resting just on his hip. But the other side of the bed was cold. Raquelle had returned a short while before he'd retired to this room, but Fenrir had not. The house was quiet now, Raquelle and Marrok asleep before the hearth, Eithne in her room and the entire village silently slumbering. Fenrir was still not back.
The irrational anger and fear from earlier was rising its ugly head again, spurred by his frustration. Where was he? He didn't like to think he felt abandoned, it sounded silly but he did. The bastard had said enough times that they were in this together, hadn't he? But where was he now? With a growl of irritation, Harry grit his teeth, fighting the urge to swing himself out of bed and go looking for him. He wasn't going to go chasing after him.
No sooner had he thought this, however than the slightest sound of movement reached his ears. He stilled, listening hard and a shadow fell over the window, his final warning before Fenrir's large form hauled itself over the sil. With a low grunt, the man turned and closed the shutters, turning to face him. There was a lamp glowing at the beside that illuminated the room just enough for Harry to see his pensive expression.
"Left the window open by means of invitation, pet?" the alpha murmured.
Harry scoffed quietly, rolling onto his back but scooting over to the other side, silently letting him know he was ok with sharing the bed. He was more than ok with it, actually. His skin was practically itching with the need to feel that warmth pressed against his own. His chest was tight. He was lonely without Fenrir's closeness, both mental and physical.
After a moment, he felt the bed dip under the man's weight and Fenrir slid in beside him.
Harry's body physically relaxed, he could just feel Fenrir's heat against his side and yet his mind was still reeling. Moistening his lips, he fought to find words. "You know I'm strong, right?" he settled on at last, staring up at the darkness above them, and the shadowy patterns the single lamp cast on the ceiling. When Fenrir said nothing, he continued. "Wand or no wand, I can do stuff – yes it's unintentional but it comes when it matters."
Rolling onto his side, Harry sat up slightly to look down at the werewolf's softly lit face. Those blue eyes was staring up at him, glistening. "You saw what I did at the waterfall that day – I saved you from Radulf and if it comes to it, I'll do it again," Harry insisted. "I won't let Him kill you." He'd never been particularly loquacious, never really found the right words at the right time but for once his chosen phrasing did as intended. It got a reaction out of Fenrir.
The alpha snarled, shoving Harry backwards on the bed, his hands pinning Harry's shoulders to the pillows as he hovered over him. Harry stared back at him, unyielding, not caring that the man was as naked as the day he was born, that didn't matter now (although he did flush a little). The wolf was angry that his sub felt the need to protect him.
"It's my job to look after you right now," Fenrir growled huskily, his fingers tightening on Harry's shoulders slightly.
"Surely we're meant to look after each other?" Harry countered in irritation. "You won't let him touch me and I won't let him hurt you either, so you have nothing to worry about! Nothing to go moping about in the dark all night. Nothing to make you keep distancing yourself from me!" His voice was harsh and forceful despite its low whispered tone.
"We're not going to charge the manor doors in the name of war tomorrow," Harry continued, more calmly this time. "We just need him to see me broken, to see that I'm no threat so we have the freedom to go find Ron and Hermione and…make sure the time is right to finish him. I don't know if Ron and Hermione have…you know, gotten everything ready without me but we can't make a move to eliminate Him until everything is in place. You just need to show me as some broken, submissive whelp. That's all."
Fenrir snorted. "That's all," he repeated bluntly. "The world knows it's impossible to break you, you'll have to be a very good actor."
Harry blinked. Somehow that seemed almost like a compliment. "We will need to be. We're in this together, aren't we?" he asked, though the question was stated more like a challenge.
Above him, Fenrir leant down to rest his forehead against Harry's. Still staring into his eyes he breathed him in again, drawing in the very breath tumbling over Harry's lips into his own mouth. An indirect kiss that seemed to calm him. His heat made the tightness in Harry's chest ease. But the body above was still tense and anxious, angry at that anxiety among other things. Why didn't he have the power to alleviate some of that, as Fenrir seemed to with him?
Closing his eyes briefly, Harry exhaled slowly. "Nothing is going to happen to us," he said softly, his voice a barely there whisper. When he opened his eyes again, Fenrir's stare gripped him.
"No," the wolf said sharply. "It won't." He pushed off slightly then to rest back on his heels between Harry's legs, staring down at him without really seeing him – lost to his thoughts. That was until Harry shifted up onto his elbows, the action dragging his shirt up to reveal more than Harry intended. Harry flushed darkly as he saw those ice-blue eyes fix on his body and snapped his legs shut. But it wasn't his nether regions those eyes were drawn to (for once) and he knew it.
Not for the first time that night, he drew in a breath as one might take before diving off a platform or into a battle. It was him that held that gaze unwaveringly this time as he said, "you can touch it if you want."
Those dazzling azure eyes pierced the darkness as they widened. "Why?" the man asked, his voice low and rough as ever.
Harry moistened his suddenly dry lips. "Because you want to."
A long pause then; "Why does that matter now?" Fenrir muttered, as if trying to conceal the bitterness in his voice.
Harry fought the urge to shuffle back further up the bed, he did however shift his shirt down to give him some more dignity without the need to hold his knees up to his barely convex stomach. "Because even though I didn't want this-" he grit his teeth. No, that wasn't the way to start. "I know this wasn't your fault, neither of you," he rushed out quickly before Fenrir could interrupt. "I know that but I've been acting like it is, been punishing you and it – I've been an arsehole. Despite the fact that every inch of you is screaming not to take me to Him you're doing it anyway because I asked. Fair is fair."
It took a while for Fenrir to process his words it seemed. As the words slowly dawned on him, his eyes visibly studied Harry's face and then his concealed stomach in turn. Harry thought he might argue still but was surprised when the man shifted, glancing up a final time as if for ultimate permission before letting his large hot palm rest on Harry's stomach.
Harry could feel his heat through the cloth of his shirt and stiffened, partly because someone was touching him intimately for the first time in months but also because that heat sent a little ripple of pleasure through his skin. The warmth of another body made his belly tingle. It wasn't just the…the baby either. His eyes fluttered closed and he drew in a quick breath. He'd thought he could bear this, he was wrong. He could do more than that. Despite his remaining issues, despite the uneasiness that swept through him even now at being touched, he'd missed it.
After a moment or two passed like this, both of them silent, Harry moistened his dry lips again, staring up at Fenrir uncertainly from under his lashes. He was unnerved by the man's lack of speech. Normally he was almost painfully expressive, now he was unreadable. "It's not very big," Harry said, wondering if that was the cause for the silence and the curious contemplation on that rugged face.
At last those eyes snapped to him and he thought he saw the barest flicker of a smile reflected there. A knowing smile that never quite reached those lips. "It won't be," Fenrir murmured. "You won't get noticeably big, and the cub will be born small but strong, that's always the way." His large hand splayed a little more then, moving slightly as those eyes focussed on Harry's. "I'm encouraged that you're concerned," he said simply.
Harry frowned, but anything he was about to say was cut short by Fenrir's words.
"And I like that you missed me."
That frown intensified into a scowl, but there was no menace behind it and Fenrir must have sensed that, for he leant down to press his forehead against Harry's own. His hand remained on his stomach, rubbing in soft, barely there gestures. He stared into Harry's eyes that refused to surrender and look away. "I can sense it. There's no shame in admitting it, you know. There's no one to hear you but me."
That's the bloody point! Harry thought, not knowing what to do. What had happened still made him flinch when he thought about it. He hadn't wanted this, didn't know how to feel about the growing warmth he felt toward the precious thing Fenrir's hand was touching so gently. But he'd never felt such bliss inside him, so safe or wanted as he did now.
Screwing his eyes shut for courage, Harry snarled in answer, shoving his head up and wrapping his arms around Fenrir's neck. He slammed his lips to Fenrir's, a feral grunt reverberating from his tongue and into that mouth as it opened to greet him.
It felt far too submissive, far too pathetic to simply lie there and admit it. He would show him. He would abolish the meek creature he had been for the last few weeks from both of their memories. He was stronger than that. He had to be.
Grunting again into the kiss, he tugged roughly on the man's hair, demanding and fierce in his claiming of that mouth. Fenrir growled back, his large hands seizing Harry's face and pulling him up higher into their embrace. His own tongue lapped hungrily at Harry's like a man starved, his teeth grazing the tip and Harry's mouth until the young man felt it grow hot and swollen against those stubble-framed lips.
"Oh, you missed me alright," Fenrir murmured huskily, dragging his mouth down to suck and bite Harry's jaw, even as Harry fought to capture him in another kiss. When Fenrir's hands slid up to knot in Harry's hair to hold him still, allowing him to taste the fleshy lobe of Harry's ear. Harry shoved him back, hard on the bed until they were both upright.
Fenrir almost felt himself salivating at the sight of him. His eyes were bright in the darkness, his lips and face flushed and his body shaking slightly with his ragged breath. He wanted him so badly, a desire that was intensified by the defiance burning harshly in those eyes. The same kind of flame that had danced there when he had first seen him bleeding to death at Voldemort's feet.
He almost laughed to himself then. If Voldemort thought anyone could break this boy, he was a fool. He would die before he ever bowed under another's will, before he surrendered. At that thought, Fenrir made to lunge to grab him again but Harry's glare intensified and he held him back at arm's length.
"You can tease me," Harry began slowly, "You can chase me, you can even fuck me, but I'm not the submissive whippet that Conall and the others think I am. I won't lay back and just accept your will. If you ever try to make me into something I'm not, you'll never touch me again." His voice was calm and low, but full of menacing threat. It was a threat that made Fenrir's wolf howl with dread inside him.
After a few moments of silence, Harry's hands lost their force where they had been holding him back at his shoulders and slid down slowly. As they fell, Fenrir caught them both and hauled him close until Harry was straddling his thighs. Their noses were but a scant centimetre apart and those green eyes stared down at him cautiously, as if uncertain how he would answer.
"I've never wanted you to be what those mutts wanted," Fenrir grunted. "The only thing I wanted to change was to make you accept and take what you want for once in your bloody life, to put yourself first and let someone else be the hero. To let me provide and protect as I swore to do under the moon–"
"Is that all?" Harry muttered with a hint of sarcasm, pushing half-heartedly to escape Fenrir's embrace. But when Fenrir released him immediately, Harry looked surprised and did not move from where he knelt in the man's lap.
Fenrir smirked, but his tone was deadly serious when his hands traced the lean muscle at the back of the boy's thighs and he murmured, "Aside from that, there's nothing I would change." His fingers slipped up just under the hem of the boy's long shirt, claws scraping his buttocks gently. "I want you as you are with the cheek, the pride and the shitty attitude – all of it. It's all mine – you are mine."
He could not help but notice the shudder than ran up his mate's spine at that point. He grinned in the darkness and chased the spasm with the very tips of his claws, caressing the sinewy muscles of Harry's back and taking his shirt (the final barrier between their flesh) with it. He tugged it off the boy's head before leaning in and claiming that mouth with a kiss of his own, just as demanding and possessive but this time slower, full of need.
Harry groaned, welcoming his tongue beyond his lips. His fingers curled into fists, clawing at Fenrir's chest as his body arched forward into him, before sagging as if in relief in his embrace. Their lips still locked, Fenrir growled softly as he teased that tongue, earning a small almost-purr from that mouth. He grazed those lips and that chin with his own lips, that jaw, the soft curve of an ear.
"Don't starve me of you like that again," Fenrir grunted in his ear, nipping the lobe before dropping bristly, hungry kisses down the column of Harry's throat. His fingers scraped those buttocks as his teeth mimicked the motion over Harry's collarbone. Harry tensed and not entirely in arousal. Pausing in the perusal of his mate's flesh, Fenrir drew back a fraction to meet those eyes questioningly. He smelled fear.
"I don't know if I can…" Harry began quietly, chewing the inside of his mouth in an attempt to mask his anxiety. "Not that anyway, not …" He shuddered, but when he shifted as if to slide back off Fenrir's thighs, Fenrir held him tight. Harry added, "It reminds me of…well, you know."
Fenrir stared up at him in a rare thoughtful moment. He had to be so cautious with Harry sometimes, it was still quite novel to him, having to think before his spoke, having to consider another's feelings. "The wolf and I are the same, but one is driven purely by instinct rather than...consideration for you," he winced as he struggled to find that word and saw Harry raise a brow as if he knew what word he was about to say.
"I know," Harry said quietly, putting his hands on Fenrir's shoulders but not pushing away again – not yet. "I know you wouldn't have done that to me, not without my consent anyway. I do realise that, you know."
Fenrir wanted to scratch the back of his neck to hide his awkwardness. Those green eyes were dazzling in the darkness and staring down into his very soul. Like no one had before. "So I won't fuck you–"
"Not yet," Harry said quickly, seeming uncharacteristically concerned about that.
Fenrir smirked. "No, not until I earn it – or the wolf does, however you want to see it. Doesn't mean I can't show you some consideration."
Harry hissed hungrily, unknowingly shoving his arse back and tightening his fingers into the sheets. His legs tensed and his toes curled. God he'd missed this, missed him. Harry was so relieved that what had happened hadn't ruined sex for him entirely that he felt everything heightened.
***CENSORED. FOR FULL SCENE PLEASE FOLLOW ONE OF THE LINKS ON MY PROFILE***
Fenrir gripped him hard, tugging their sweaty bodies back to the bed, Harry lying limply atop Fenrir's collapsed form. Their chests heaved breathlessly and Harry was so far out of it that he jumped slightly when Fenrir's hand smoothed his damp fringe back from his forehead.
"Sorry," Harry murmured tiredly as he tipped his head back to look up, barely able to form coherent words, "spaced out a bit there." Fenrir was staring down at him as if thoughtful. Not knowing what else to say to that expression, Harry lay his head back down, listening to the sound of the wolf's heart gradually slowing down to normal. "Was good," he murmured against that slightly damp skin, closing his eyes as he waited for his own breathing and heart rate to slow again. I've missed it, he thought, not daring to speak it aloud. I've missed feeling close to him.
"Mmm," Fenrir agreed huskily, rolling them slightly so that Harry was on his side and Fenrir was spooned against his back. Harry stretched leisurely at the feel of that nose pressing at the nape of his neck, sniffing him. His head was rested on Fenrir's arm, the hand on which was just brushing through his hair slowly. He was about to close his eyes again when he felt his mate's other hand glide over his hip to rest flat on his naked belly.
Fenrir didn't ask permission this time. Fenrir Greyback was not the kind of man to ask permission, that he had earlier was no mean feat; now it seemed he knew it was unnecessary. They'd gone past that. Harry wasn't afraid of him or of acknowledging what grew beneath his palm either, not really. He was scared to death but that didn't make it go away in the end, he knew that. He couldn't avoid the issue any longer.
And Fenrir feels so happy, he thought, the warmth practically radiating from that hand on his stomach. He stretched leisurely, pressing back into the heat of Fenrir's body. The nose at the back of his neck nuzzled in closer, drinking in his scent.
"You smell better when you're happy – well, happier," Fenrir murmured into his hair, his hand moving in the slightest of circles on his bare stomach. Beneath it, a small fluttering sensation swelled. They both froze. Harry flushed darkly and shifted awkwardly.
"Errr, sorry," he said, "I ate a lot earlier and… Well you're a bloke too–!"
"It's not wind you prat it's the cub – can't you tell the difference?" Fenrir cut across him, his voice coarse but low in his ear as he leant up slightly to look down at where his hand lay on Harry's stomach. "Maybe it senses you're in a good mood for a change," he mused.
Harry snorted, lowering his own hand tentatively to rest alongside Fenrir's. "This is weird," he muttered, the odd fluttering movement shifting under his own palm now too. "If I weren't so tired I'd run screaming for the hills." He was only part joking. The way Fenrir's palm tensed beside his told him that he knew it.
"I'd chase after you," Fenrir growled softly, "There's nowhere you can run to that I wouldn't follow." He paused a moment, sliding his fingers down a fraction on Harry's stomach to entwine them with Harry's own. The smaller man froze for a moment before relaxing again. He could smell the blush suffusing those cheeks with colour and smirked against the back of the boy's neck.
"I know it must be odd, seeing as you only knew this was possible a few months ago – given everything else that's weighing on your shoulders but you'll be alright." He pressed in tight against Harry's back, sniffing him again. "When all this shit with Him is done, we'll only have ourselves to please."
There was a small silence, then…
"I don't think I know what would please me anymore," Harry murmured, quiet and confused but Fenrir swore his fingers tightened around Fenrir's on his stomach.
Fenrir nestled into his neck again, fighting the urge to lick him and instead placing a reassuring kiss on the soft arch of a honey-hued shoulder. The human gesture made Harry turn his head to meet his eyes. "I know we didn't get the best start, but having a home, a family of your own, wouldn't that please you?" he asked. His free arm was looped under Harry's neck at the perfect angle for the hand not on Harry's stomach to caress his sweaty hair. "I don't expect an answer yet, don't worry," he mused. "You're not the only seventeen year old not to know what he wants."
At this, Harry's eyes glistened. "I don't find it hard to imagine a bad tempered, troubled, hormonal teenage Fenrir Greyback terrorising the countryside," he chuckled. "I hope our child is better adjusted than both of us."
Fenrir's eyes widened a fraction and he rolled Harry a little more to face him, not removing his other hand from his stomach. He could feel it, just there, the small fluttering movements were continuing, as if the little creature within were fidgeting with elation that Harry had acknowledged it.
"Our child, you've never said that before," Fenrir almost whispered. Those green eyes stared into his for a long time.
"I suppose I haven't," Harry said, apparently not knowing what else to say. Those eyes softened and trust emanated from them as they never had before. Harry trusted him. It was enough to enable him to allow the subject on Harry's choice of words go, for now. But much later he would realise just how trustworthy Harry must have deemed him, for what his mate revealed next was quite obviously the most important secret he carried. And one he had been harbouring alone for months.
"Look," Harry began, "tomorrow, when we face Him, there's a few things you should know." He looked up at Fenrir, no hesitation in his voice or face. "How much do you know about Horcruxes?"
After the explanation he would realise that despite everything, Harry trusted him, implicitly – completely.
~To Be Continued...